Holmes and Watson had been working on their case for quite some time. They had gone to the home of one Lady Carmichael to investigate the sightings of the spirit of the late Emelia Ricoletti. Holmes was convinced that it was the work of one, James Moriarty, even though he had thrown his loves brother over a cliff, he still believe he was behind this.

One day Watson went to visit Holmes at his flat to finds him lying on the floor, with a small blue case, lined with a silky maroon cloth, with a needle next to it, lying next to him, Watson sighs and walks over in front of his friend, taking his hat off. "Morphine or Cocaine?" Holmes doesn't answer, but it does appear Watson woke him up. "Holmes... Morphine or Cocaine?" Holmes looks up to his friend and smooths his hair back. "Cocaine, a seven percent solution. Would you care for some?"

Watson shakes his head and looks down, taking a deep breath, "No, but I would very much like to find very ounce of it in your possession and pour it out the window." Holmes stands and picks up the blue case, putting it and the needle away, "I should be inclined to stop you." Watson moves close to his friend, speaking in a hushed tone, "Then you would be reminded... quite forcibly... which of us is a soldier and which of us a drug addict." Holmes scoffs softly, looking down at his friend. "You're not a soldier, you are a doctor."

Watson shakes his head, "No, I was an army doctor, which means I can break every bone in your body, while naming them. Do you think that Moriarty wants to see you like this." Watson sighs and shakes his head, "No, I'd imagine she does not wish to be around you while you're in this state, but she does not wish to say anything. Because she loves you, even though you seem to be reserved to show that to her in the slightest way. You are driving everyone away from you with this. Even the woman who, for some untold reason, loves you, even after all this."

Holmes sighs softly. "Dear Watson, you are allowing emotion to cloud your judgement." Watson takes a deep breath, before addressing his friend again. "Never on a case. You promised me, never on a case."

"No, I just said that in one of your stories."

Watson points at Holmes, breathing rapidly. "Listen, I am happy to play the fool for you. But dear God above. You will hold yourself to a higher standard." By the end of his sentence Watson is shouting. "Why?" Holmes turns back to his friend, looking at him rather confused.

"Because people need you to."

"What people? Why? Because of your idiot stories."

"Yes. because of my idiot stories. And because you have people, partially a young woman, who love you." Before Holmes can reply a young boy rushes into the flat, handing Holmes a telegram. "Mr. Holmes. Mr. Holmes. Telegram, Mr. Holmes." Then runs back out of the flat. Holmes opens the telegram and reads it. He looks shocked and raises his eyes to Watson, who reacts as if he's not interested in the contents but feels obliged to ask the question. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"It's the girls."

"What about them?"

"It's entirely possible they're in danger."

"Danger?"

"There's isn't a moment to lose." Holmes takes his dressing gown off and leaves the flat as Watson follows him, "Is this the cocaine talking? What danger could they possible be in? I'm sure they're just visiting with friends." "Come on!" Holmes calls out to him sternly as he hurries down the stairs, Watson follows. Near the bottom of the stairs, Holmes has to grab onto the banister rail to support himself as he stumbles. Grimacing, he continues into the hall, buttoning his coat.

Watson steps closer to his friend "What is happening? Are you even in a fit state?" Holmes takes his outer coat from the peg and starts to put it on. "For the girls, of course. Never doubt that, Watson. Never that." He breathes heavily and doubles over, groaning. "Holmes!" Watson helps him to straighten up. "I'm Fine!" Still breathing heavily, he reaches out and picks up his top hat. Watson snatches it away from him. "Not that one." He tosses it along the hallway and picks up the deerstalker. "This one."

"Why?"

"You're Sherlock Holmes wear the damn hat." Watson shaves the hat at Holmes, who glowers at him but puts it on. They hurry out into the street, which is busy with pedestrians, and Watson calls out loudly as Holmes runs to the kerb and looks up and down the road urgently. "Cab! Cab!"

The boys head out to find the Church that the girls are at. When they arrive they sneak in quietly finding the woman. Who are both dressed in almost riding attire, with pants and jackets. The two woman are hiding behind a pillar and step out then the two boys reach them, startling Watson. "What the Devil?!"

Mrs. Watson gestures on the other side on the other side of pillars, "We found them." They pause as distant chanting can be heard. Mary leads the others towards the sound. They descend some steps, where two small metal braziers on tripods are burning. Watson stands next to his wife and whispers softly, "What is all this?"

Mrs. Watson looks through the pillars. "This is the heart of it all, John, the heart of the conspiracy." They continue on into the vaults. The chanting, which sounds like Latin, gets louder, the voices sounding female. There are more burning braziers along the route. Mary and Madison turn and beckon the men to continue following them. They reach a pair of arched stone windows. Mary and Holmes go to one window and Watson and Madison to the other and they watch as, in another corridor across a gap, many figures process past. All of them are wearing dark blue robes and have pointed conical hats, reminiscent of the Ku Klux Klan, over their heads obscuring their faces. Watson speaks to the others quietly, "Great God, what is this place? And what the devil are you two doing here?"

The girls switch places as they look through the pillars, Miss. Moriarty gets on his tippy toes to see through the window Holmes is looking through, "We've been making enquiries, Mr. Holmes asked us."

"Holmes, how could you?!"

Mrs. Watson shakes her head, "No, not him, the clever one. It seemed obvious to us that this business could not be managed alone." Moriarty nods and looks toward Watson. "Our theory is that Mrs Ricoletti had help – help from her friends."

Holmes nods and looks to the girls, "Bravo." He looks to Mrs. Watson finally catching up with what she just said. "The Clever One?"

Watson takes a deep breath. "I thought I was losing you. I thought perhaps we were neglecting each other." Holmes shrugs his shoulders, "Well you were the one who moved out." Watson closes his eyes, "I was talking to Mary. But you two are working for Mycroft?"

Moriarty nods and looks over to John, "He likes to keep an eye on his mad sibling." Holmes glances toward Watson, "And he had spies on hand. Has it occurred to you that these two are excessively skilled?" Moriarty laughs softly, "Of course, it hasn't. When did it occur to you?"

"Just now I'm afraid." Mrs. Watson looks up to Holmes, "Must be difficult being the slow little brother."

"Time I sped up. Enough chatter. Let's concentrate."

The group turns back to watch the procession, "Yes, all right. What's all this about? What do they want to accomplish?"

"Why don't we go and find out?" Holmes turns and hurries away, the others following. They run through the vaults, passing large fires burning around various columns which support the roof, and eventually reach a small chapel where the robed figures have gathered, still chanting. Holmes enters through the doorway behind them and sees a suspended gong to one side. Picking up its mallet, he strikes the gong loudly. The figures stop chanting and turn to face him. "Sorry. I could never resist a gong. Or a touch of the dramatic. Though it seems you share my enthusiasm in that regard." He walks through the middle of the crowd. The figures stand silently in even rows either side of him. "Excellent."

Mary throws a nervous glance at her husband, who is staring around the chapel in awe. As Holmes continues, "Superlative theatre. I applaud the spectacle. Emelia Ricoletti shot herself, then apparently returned from the grave and killed her husband. So, how was it done? Let's take the events in order. Mrs Ricoletti gets everyone's attention in very efficient fashion. Once she had the crowd's attention she places one of the revolvers in her mouth while actually firing the other into the ground. An accomplice sprays the curtains with blood... and thus her apparent suicide is witnessed by the frightened crowd below. A substitute corpse bearing a strong resemblance to Mrs Ricoletti takes her place and is later transported to the morgue. A grubby little suicide of little interest to Scotland Yard. Meanwhile the real Mrs Ricoletti slips away. Now comes the really clever part. Mrs Ricoletti persuaded a cab driver – someone who knew her – to intercept her husband outside his favorite opium den. The perfect stage for a perfect drama. A perfect positive identification. The late Mrs. Ricoletti has returned from the grave and with a little skilled makeup you and you have the wrath of a vengeful ghost. There was only one thing left to do. All that remained was to substitute the real Mrs Ricoletti for the corpse in the morgue. This time, should anyone attempt to identify her… it would be positively, absolutely her."

Watson steps towards Holmes "But why would she do that – die to prove a point?"

Miss. Moriarty steps forward and evens herself with Holmes, "Every great cause has martyrs; every war has suicide missions – and make no mistake, this is war. One half of the human race at war with the other. The invisible army hovering at your elbow, attending to your homes, raising your children, ignored, patronised, disregarded, not allowed so much as a vote."

Holmes nods and focuses his attention on Moriarty, "but an army nonetheless, ready to rise up in the best of causes, to put right an injustice as old as humanity itself. So, you see, Watson, Mycroft was right. This is a war we must lose." He turns to Watson as he speaks. "She was dying."

"Who was?"

"Emelia Ricoletti. There were clear signs of consumption. I doubt she was long for this world."

Holmes nods. "So she decided to make her death count. She was already familiar with the secret societies of America and was able to draw on their methods of fear and intimidation to publicly – very publicly – confront Sir Eustace Carmichael with the sins of his past"

A young woman steps out of the crowd, "He knew her out in the States. Promised her everything… marriage, position – and then he had his way with her and threw her over, left her abandoned and penniless."

"Hooper!" Holmes looks to the woman a little surprised. The young woman had been posing as a man in order to run the morgue and had met Holmes and Watson when they came to look over bodies for cases. "Holmes."

Watson steps forward, "For the record, Holmes, she didn't have me fooled" Holmes turns and stares at him. Watson smiles in a rather satisfied way. Then his gaze shifts and he stares in surprise as one of the women leans into view and waves cheekily at him. It is his maid. Jane finishes her wave and steps back. Watson looks a little awkward as Holmes smirks. Miss. Moriarty looks up to Holmes. "Emelia thought that she'd found happiness with Ricoletti, but he was a brute too. Emelia Ricoletti was our friend. You have no idea how that bastard treated her."

Holmes is still staring at her as if confused, Watson questions, "But ... the Bride, Holmes. We saw her." Holmes turns to Watson, "Yes, Watson, we did. But the sound of breaking glass? Not a window. Just an old theatrical trick." Miss. Moriarty smiles up at Holmes, rather proud they were able to trick Holmes and Watson for so long, "It's called Pepper's Ghost."

Holmes nods, "A simple reflection, in glass, of a living breathing person. Their only mistake was breaking the glass when they removed it. Look around you. This room is full of Brides. Once she had risen, anyone could be her. The avenging ghost – a legend to strike terror into the heart of any man with malicious intent; a spectre to stalk those unpunished brutes whose reckoning is long overdue. A league of furies awakened." Holmes looks around the group and then back to Miss. Moriarty, not taking his eyes off her as he speaks "The women I... we have lied to, betrayed… the women we have ignored... and disparaged. Once the idea exists, it cannot be killed. This is the work of a single-minded person, someone who knew first-hand about Sir Eustace's mental cruelty. A dark secret, kept from all but her closest friends… including Emelia Ricoletti… the woman her husband wronged all those years before."

Holmes finishes his deductions as he and Miss. Moriarty look into each other's eyes. It is clear that girls were aware all of this and it was also Moriarty's way of tell him things needed to change, and they would have to if she were to stay with him. Holmes nods and lightly takes Moriarty's left hand and runs his thumb over her ring finger, letting her know that he understood.